


Brimstone Then Comfort

by LostSoftSpaceDyke



Series: 666/Super Sappy Lines Prompt Challenge [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, heavier than my usual stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSoftSpaceDyke/pseuds/LostSoftSpaceDyke
Summary: Aziraphale has been having flashbacks about Hell since the swap and, for the first time since they've started, Crowley is there when one happens.Sort of part of the 666 challenge (write a fic in 666 words), but using tiptoe39's prompt list! This is prompt #2.Content warning for symptoms of PTSD.





	Brimstone Then Comfort

_Sulfur. But also something darker, something utterly suffocating that makes Aziraphale want to both vomit and gasp for air at once. It's a deadly combination and he chokes on the scent and the feeling and the dread and the utter terror until he feels he might cry, and then he collects himself with sheer will. Crowley's life depends on it. So does his._

_But he can still smell it. He can feel it's burn in his nose, the way it makes his eyes itch. Its flavour mixes with the rising bile in his throat, leaving it scratched and raw. Every time he brought in a breath, it burned all the way into his lungs such that he could feel every millimeter of space it occupied within him. He thinks back to the 19th century London smog, to the first time he'd smoked, to the first time Crowley had coerced him into drinking moonshine. None of it compares to what he feels now. The burn consumes him in a way that is so overwhelming that he wonders if it's the panic of losing one's breath or the lack of breath itself that's meant to kill him. His mind alternates between wanting to stop breathing and wanting to hyperventilate. He has never had to breathe before but oh what he'd do now to simply be able to._

_It's a wonder he can speak at all when addressed. It's a wonder the words don't crumble to ashes with how dry his tongue feels. His whole mouth feels like the worst sort of sandpaper, fresh out of the box. Were he asked later what he had said in that moment, he would be unable to recall it. He simply speaks with the voice of a being so much more confident than he. He uses words that are not his own, feels them cut against the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think of them so much as he is possessed by them, unaware of their meaning but sending them along. _

_There’s only one fully formed thought in his mind right now, swimming amongst half-processed sensory fragments_.

_This could have been Crowley, walking to his death._

"Crowley?"

His voice comes in a croak as he finally seems to focus on the demon standing before him, brows bunched and bright yellow eyes betraying his worry. This one doesn't trigger the same terror as the others. In fact, the feeling is quite the opposite. The touch against his cheek is...reassuring, grounding.

"How long have you been having these? You could get hurt. Discorporeate. Why didn't you tell me?"

Aziraphale tries to think of an answer but it feels stuck in his throat, the words too thick to come up now. He looks down to the sun-warmed hardwood of the bookshop floor and realizes he must have fallen. _How long has he been here?_ "A few weeks."

"A few weeks? Christ, Aziraphale, you've been...been _dissociating_ for a few _weeks_?" Crowley isn't angry so much as he is vaguely terrified. "I'm going to get you water, make some phone calls."

No, no, _no_. The thought of being left alone swallows him up again and Aziraphale knows, with all the dread in his gut, that the moment Crowley leaves the fear will come back. He grips Crowley's wrist, a small part of his mind insisting that he must be hurting him, but he can't help it. He's operating on an irrational instinct. He can't be alone.

"Please don't leave me."

Crowley looks down at him, meeting his eyes for a moment. The pain there is strong, exhausting so, so Crowley won't ask what the flashback was about even if he desperately wants to destroy whoever did this to his angel. That can wait. Instead, he gently runs his fingers through feather-soft hair and finds himself gathering Aziraphale up. A kiss is pressed to his cheek, his forehead, and then the soft weight of Crowley's head rests against his hair. "I won't. I never could."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #2: "Please don't leave me."
> 
> The rest of the prompts are on Tumblr (https://tiredandineffable.tumblr.com/post/187120064241/super-sappy-lines-prompt-list)! Feel free to place a request for the next one. If no requests come in, I'll do them in order. I intend to do one per day until I've finished the list.
> 
> I know the 666 challenge has actual prompts for it, but I liked the idea of writing something so short but wanted to do the challenges more frequently than they were outlining. Who knows, I might overlap with the challenges they outline in the future!
> 
> As always, please leave feedback! I love the comments and reading them always makes my day!


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